Yellow Eyes
by PaintedOak
Summary: Keith is captured by the Galra, and after several months of torture, Voltron manages to rescue him. What comes after is the healing process. And Lance is more than willing to help him out with that.


The screams seemed to resound throughout the whole ship. A Galra officer walking by the room was sure to hear them echoing as they made their way through the halls, resounding in their minds long after they had moved far enough away to not actually hear them. There was just such a quality about them that made it impossible to shake the sound from their memory. It was different than what they were used to hearing. They always heard the pain, yes, but there was usually an undertone of hot, fiery anger. An unwillingness to give up the fight, to continue long after their body gave out. A hope that maybe, just maybe, they would be rescued and their torture would end. And at first, this man's screams held that kind of tone. But now, it was new. Different. These screams were hopeless, the kind that came from a man who knew he would never be freed from his torment. These screams came from a man long since broken, screaming more for the pain than for anything else. And he knew that it would all continue, until his body finally gave out and he died.

And he wished so badly for it. He wanted it to _stop, stop, please dear god make it stop._

He'd lost track of how long he'd been there. He couldn't even remember his own name anymore, finding it hard to think through the fog of pain that lingered even after the electricity stopped flooding his body. So he just hung there, strung up by his wrists, forever shifting between wakefulness and unconsciousness. He was hardly aware anymore when his captors came in for more. Sometimes they'd tease him, demanding answers on the inner-workings of the Blade of Marmora or on the Paladins of Voltron. Not that he could even get his mouth to move to give them one. He hadn't been able to even lift his head for what seemed like weeks.

He was straddling the line when the door opened again, flirting with the idea of unconsciousness. Deep in the back of his mind, he braced himself for the pain he knew was coming his way.

Instead, he found himself hurtling towards the ground, the restraints holding him up suddenly gone. He gasped as pain bloomed in him, the blood finally flooding back into his arms and his lungs struggled for air after being deprived of it for so long. He was barely aware of a worried voice calling to him.

"Keith!" Keith. That sounds familiar. Like a word he should know. A name? His name? He wasn't really sure. He hadn't heard the name in what seemed like forever. And the voice- he hadn't heard its beautiful song in so much longer.

As his pain-addled brain tried to make sense of things, he distantly felt himself being scooped up. His head lolled against his rescuer's shoulder and he was only able to catch a glimpse of blue and white before he succumbed to the blackness waiting for him.

When he woke again, he found himself looking at his friends through a haze of blue. Was this heaven? Surely it must be. That's the only place he'd imagine ever seeing their faces again. But no, they were moving, smiling, _crying._ Why would they be crying? He reached out a hand towards them, and the blue fell away. He needed to get to them, to hug them, to be sure that everything was alright. He moved towards them, and tripped over his feet and into the arms of the paladins of Voltron. As the seconds ticked away, he found himself becoming more and more aware. His name was Keith. He'd just been in hell. But now he was home.

The days that followed were almost a blur to Keith. The paladins kept coming to his room to check up on him. At one point, the Blade called the Castle to see when Keith would be returning. He decided that he needed some time to heal and just be. And even though his response earned a disapproving look from Kolivan, he gave his permission and wished him a speedy recovery.

During those days, he stayed away from the training deck, choosing instead to be with his friends. He cooked with Hunk. He entertained Pidge when she needed a break from her computers. When he was up to it, he strategized with Shiro and Allura. And late at night, he would find himself talking with Lance. The two would talk about their time on Earth, about all the stupid things they got themselves into. Sometimes when the night got really late, they'd talk about their deepest fears. But mostly, they just laughed.

One such night found the two sitting in Keith's room, Lance laying on the floor with his jacket working as a makeshift pillow while Keith laid on the bed with his head dangling off.

"No, man, I'm telling you, it was all over his face." Keith had asked Lance about what had happened while he was away, which had brought a grin to his face as he remembered the time Pidge had laughed so hard during dinner, food goo had come flying out of her nose. It was a strange and welcome sight for those present, as they never saw their snarky friend laugh much as of late. But apparently, Lance tripping over his own feet rushing in had been enough to make her double over in uproarious laughter.

"There was just this green goo running down her face, and she was laughing so much, and then everyone was laughing, it was so nice," he continued with a smile.

"Yeah I bet," Keith smiled. "I wish I could have been there. Could've made fun of you."

Lance tossed his jacket at his face. "Oh ha-ha. You're just jealous."

Keith scoffed, catching the jacket and dangling it above his friend.

"Jealous? Of your love of the floor? Sure. Whatever you want to believe."

Lance lazily reached for the jacket before Keith jerked it out of his reach, a devious smirk on his face as he forced Lance to paw after the jacket like a cat. He jerked it up and down a few more times, his chuckles growing into laughter.

"Keith, give it back," Lance said.

"Aw, come on kitty! You can do it!" Keith teased. Lance huffed, rising off the floor to try to snatch it back. In response, Keith sat up on the bed and hid the jacket behind his back.

"Nope! Gotta get it fair and square," Keith beamed. The look on Lance's face was a strange mix of frustration and playful competition.

"Oh. It's on." Lance lunged forward, while Keith twisted away from his outstretched hand. The two battled it out on the bed, twisting around each other to achieve victory. Laughing, Keith broke away, bounding to the other side of the room, the jacket held high. Lance was right there, body lowered in a ready position. The two feinted left and right, Lance following Keith's every move. A beat, and Keith broke right, flying against the wall and into Lance's arms. The two spun, Keith's momentum carrying them to the floor.

For a while, the two wrestled, eventually abandoning the jacket in favor of attempting to pin the other. Their laughter rang through the air, and for a moment, Keith could almost forget all the awful things that had happened to him. He forgot the pain, the torture, the yellow eyes of the druids. It was just Lance. Lance and the amazing way he made him smile, made him laugh, made him forget.

Keith found himself gaining the upper hand, and straddling the taller boy, he pinned his wrists to the floor.

"Ha," he panted. "I win."

Lance grinned up at him, his face red from exertion. "Yes, yes you did."

For a moment, the two gazed at each other, their breaths gradually slowing. And as the seconds ticked on, the atmosphere went from fun and lighthearted to… something else. Not quite awkward, though that was there. But there was something more. Something neither of them could really put their finger on.

With a light blush dusting his face, Lance gently cleared his throat. "Hey, Keith, can you, uh-"

"Oh! Yeah sorry," Keith said, his own face erupting in a light red. He climbed off of his friend, shooting up and striding across the room to his bed. Lance, meanwhile, had not moved from his spot on the floor, his eyes trained to the ceiling above.

"Lance?" Keith ventured. Why wasn't Lance getting up? Was he hurt? Slowly, he moved back to him, taking note of the red color dusting his face. Was he sick? His eyes dusted over his body, landing unbidden on his stomach. It seemed that during their impromptu wrestling match, his shirt had ridden up, revealing a tanned, sculpted stomach. And before Keith's capture, that would have been it. But now, a fresh scar lined his abdomen, flaring pink with the newness of it.

"Hey Lance?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the mark. Lance made a noise in the back of his throat, his eyes still staring at the ceiling. "Lance, why do you have a scar?" Finally, his eyes turned to look at Keith's, his brow curling in confusion.

"What?"

Keith gestured to his stomach. "Your scar. The healing pods don't usually leave scars. So why do you have a scar?"

Lance looked down at his stomach, sitting up to really get a look at it, almost as if he was seeing it for the first time. "Oh. Um, there was only one working pod, and you needed it." He scratched the back of his head and laid back down. "So, I actually didn't go into the pod. It was just a graze, and it didn't really hurt all that much once it was bandaged. It actually healed up pretty fast. By the time you came out, I was fine again."

Keith blinked. "You… you were injured rescuing me?" He knew the team had gone through a lot to get him back, but he hadn't heard of them getting hurt in the process. He moved from his place on the bed back to his side.

Lance nodded, his eyes floating up to meet Keith's as he knelt beside him. "It's fine though, it's not as bad as your wounds were." Unbidden, Keith's hand rose to hover over the scar, as if he wished to draw his fingers over the pink flesh. Lance's eyes watched the movement before letting his eyes flit to Keith's, and was surprised to find tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He wondered what was going through his mind to make him like this. Compared to him, Lance's wound was just a scratch. But the way he was acting, you'd think he'd almost died. Like Keith almost had.

"Keith?" Lance asked softly. At the sound of his voice, Keith froze, his steel-gray eyes snapping to his sky-blue ones. For a moment, the two stared at each other before Keith pulled back his hand and seemed to retreat into himself.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"For what?" Lance asked softly.

Keith paused, looking conflicted. He looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind at the last minute. "I'm sorry you got hurt," he said, his eyes on his lap.

He looked so small to Lance. So fragile. It was so strange to him. Usually, Keith was so sure of himself, almost to the point of cockiness. He was strong, precise, and perfect in every way. He wasn't… this. Unsure.

"I'm more sorry that we couldn't get to you faster," Lance said softly. Keith closed his eyes, and to Lance it seemed that he was trying to hide. From what, he couldn't tell. "Keith," he started quietly. "What happened to you?"

Keith's eyes snapped open, his face written with sudden anguish. "Y-you don't have to tell me," Lance backtracked. "I just, I thought that maybe if I knew, I could help you better. Sometimes I hear you crying out at night, and wow, I shouldn't have-I I should just go," he started to scramble up to his feet, Keith still unmoving. "Um, I'll see you later, I guess-"

Suddenly, Keith's hand shot around his wrist, leaving Lance reeling. "Keith…?" he breathed.

For several agonizing moments, the only sound in that room was that of their bated breathing. Then, in a voice so quiet Lance wasn't even sure he heard it:

"Stay."

Lance blinked. His mind was reeling with the idea that Keith might want to talk to him about this. He'd been trying for weeks to get him to open up. Lance had seen Keith freeze during fight simulations, seen him flinch at the sound of a spoon hitting the bottom of a bowl. He had watched him pull his knife on Hunk when he'd walked up to him too quietly. Seen the panic and shame in his eyes when he'd realized what he'd done. Sometimes, Lance would come across the boy huddled in an empty hallway, tears running down his face. He saw how he tried so hard to keep it together, to try to be the person he used to be before the druids tore him apart.

Lance wanted so badly to help him. The whole team did. But every time someone broached the topic with Keith, he'd lock up and leave the room. But maybe this time would be different. He'd been waiting for a clue for weeks, something that would give him just a little insight into Keith's anguish. He knew he would never truly understand what he had gone through. But maybe if he could know of the demons behind his eyes, maybe he could help him fight them off.

So Lance took his place beside Keith again, Keith's hand returning back to his lap. His head hung, the raven black of his hair shielding his face from view. Lance waited for him to say something, anything. He wasn't going to rush him, wasn't going to bait him. If Keith was going to tell him, he knew it would be on his own time. And if it was a matter of time, then that's what Lance would give him.

So he waited, the pair sitting on the bedroom floor- one close to his breaking point, the other holding out a hand, ready to save him from the fall.

Keith took a large shuddering breath and let it out slowly. Then began in a soft voice, still hiding behind his hair.

"They… At first, they wanted answers. They'd ask me questions about Voltron, about the Blade. I wouldn't answer, though, and for that they'd… punish me. Usually it was the druid's lightning." His shoulders tightened as if remembering the current running through his muscles. "Sometimes it was a blade. But then, after a while… They stopped asking questions. I think they knew I wasn't going to give them anything. And they decided that I would be a good toy." His voice twisted with anger and Lance gently laid his hand on his shoulder.

"They would just come in, do their thing, and leave. And when I was too close to death, they'd bring in a druid to heal me right up, and they could start all over. But, all through it all, I had hope. You guys were safe. They couldn't hurt you, and that… It grounded me. Kept me sane, I guess." Lance smiled, happy he had been able to help even a little bit.

"But, they took that away." Lance made a confused sound, and Keith finally looked up, tears in his eyes. Lance blinked, trying to school his face into something that wasn't shocked. What world had he stepped into that had the stoic-faced Keith crying? Clearly one that was fucked up.

"They… they made me see you guys. They would bring you in one at a time. Sometimes days apart. They'd…" He trailed off, looking back down into his lap. "They made me think you were dead," he said after a moment, his voice barely a whisper. After a moment, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith and brought him in close.

Lance knew that whatever had happened had been bad, but this, this was worse. And obviously he wasn't even telling him everything. Lance could tell- this was just the tip of the iceberg.

"What'd they do to me?" he asked quietly. He asked mostly because he was genuinely curious. But also because he wanted Keith to keep talking. But once he felt Keith tense against him, he knew he didn't want to know.

Keith himself didn't really want to say. All of their "deaths" had been brutal. They'd torn Shiro apart limb by limb, stabbed Pidge over and over, broke every single bone in Hunk's body. But Lance…

They'd made Keith think Lance would actually succeed in rescuing him. And then they turned his feelings against him. After weeks of muttering his name, the druids had figured out that Keith might have something for the blue paladin. So, after making Keith believe Lance returned those feelings, they'd come in and tore him apart. They'd blinded him, burned him, electrocuted him… In truth, there was no shortage of the things they had done to "Lance." And once his broken body had been drug out of sight and Keith's anguished cries died down, he'd found himself losing hope. Losing himself.

But could he tell all of that to Lance? Maybe in time, but for now, he just shook his head into Lance's chest and let himself be held.

The two stayed like that for a while- Lance running soothing fingers through Keith's hair while the smaller boy cried softly into his neck, clinging to him like his life depended on it. Eventually, he fell asleep in his arms. Lance gently shifted Keith around until he could stand with him. Gently smiling at his sleeping face, he carried him over to his bed and set him down on the mattress. He pulled his blanket over him, pausing to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. For a moment, he let his hand linger on his face, softly palming his cheek. Keith just looked so peaceful when he slept, the lines on his face softened. Lance preferred Keith like this. It meant that nothing bad could happen to him. If he was asleep, the only things that would come for him would be the ghosts in his dreams. But maybe tonight, they wouldn't be so bad.

With a smile, he pulled away, rising to go to his own room. He padded across the room quietly, pausing to scoop up his jacket on the way.

"Lance."

He startled. He'd thought Keith had been asleep! He turned back to look at the smaller boy, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. Did he go too far? Should he not have touched his face? Should he have just left?

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice small.

Keith reached out to him, his face softening just the slightest.

"Stay."

With less hesitation than before, Lance walked back to Keith, placing his hand in his.

"Okay."

Keith moved over to the wall, lifting the blanket for Lance. The two got settled, but Keith found the respectable gap Lance had made between them too much. Slowly, he inched closer to Lance, sighing when he was safely nestled against his chest. After a moment, Lance smiled to himself and wrapped his arm around the smaller boy's waist. He pulled him in closer, satisfied when the two of them made a singular line. Keith nudged his nose into the crook of Lance's neck.

The two fell asleep like that, breathing in the scent of each other.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Keith did not wake from visions of yellow eyes.


End file.
